Guilty untill proven
by Sapphire1112
Summary: Set during series 19, 'After the Fall'. I do not own the characters.
1. Chapter 1

**Jack**

"She's been arrested. She's in custody." Thomas informs us.

"Huh?" I retort. "You _are_ joking?"

How the hell could anyone accuse Nikki of murder?

"No."

"Right. I'm going down there." I announce, grabbing my coat and heading for the door.

"How's that going to help?"

Well, I would have thought that was obvious. I'll keep yelling at them until they let her out.

"What? So we just abandon her – is that it?" I snap. "Screw that."

When hell freezes over.

"Jack. Jack! We keep our heads, we do our jobs, we find out what really happened and we get her out." Thomas instructs me sternly. " _In that order._ "

I need a stern voice. It's normally Nikki who keeps me thinking clearly. Without her, I just can't.

Thomas turns to my usually supportive lab assistant. "Clarissa?"

Not this time though. On this occasion, Clarissa appears to think Nikki is guilty. "I'm worried about her. The way she was with me tonight-"

I cut her off, feeling angry and let down. "You're worried about her welfare, or what she might have done?"

"Jack..." She protests – apparently surprised by my anger, but I'm not in the mood. How _dare_ she let Nikki down.

"Now which is it? Come on."

"Both." She answers with slight hesitation, probably due to my anger.

"Great." I snap at her. "Fantastic."

Clarissa and Thomas go home, deciding that there's nothing more they can do at the moment, but I remain at work - with my temper boiling.

Nikki's list of allies grows thin. Everyone has decided that she's guilty – even Thomas, who she looks up to as a father figure – and Clarissa, who's meant to be her friend. They've both given up on her and it's not right. She hasn't done anything.

I eventually fall asleep on my desk and I'm awoken by Clarissa shaking my shoulders gently.

"Has he been here all night?" I hear Thomas ask as I wake up.

What a stupid question.

"It looks like it." Clarissa answers.

"Nikki didn't get to go home, so why would I?" I mumble groggily. "What time is it?"

"5.30am." The older man responds.

I look up, puzzled. They don't normally come in until 9.30am – unless there's a call-out.

"We've got to get Nikki out, haven't we." he adds.

"You see, Jack." Clarissa comments. "You were angry because you thought we'd given up on her, but there was nothing we could do until daylight. Now daylight iis nearly here and we're back."

My anger at the two of them immediately disappears. They know she's innocent. She still has her friends.

I go to the scene to look for evidence. Clarissa works back in the lab and Thomas does the post-mortem on Belinda Roach. The awful woman who arrested Nikki is apparently already convinced of her guilt and everything Thomas finds while examining the body seems to suggests to DI Rankin, that Nikki did indeed kill this woman.

It's not looking good – that's what I hate about the police. Well, one of the things anyway. They decide who they want the culprit to be – and then they do their utmost to make the evidence fit with what they're saying.

Nikki hasn't got a hope, unless we can find concrete proof of her innocence – or reliable evidence of someone else's guilt. Nikki _is_ innocent – and we will not stop until we prove it.

I have a laptop link with the cutting room, so I can hear everything Rankin says – and her voice grates.

My first sign of hope is the rose arch.

"Roach was 5.5 – if she hit her head on the arch, she was being carried. And I'll wager by someone much taller and stronger than Nikki."

I mean what does Rankin think Nikki is? Superhuman? She brilliant – totally brilliant, but that comes from her brains, not some sort of super power.

"Bloody hell." I exclaim suddenly. "There was someone else here. Look, a big old boot print."

That's not Nikki's either.

"...And a fragment of glass."

When I get back to the Lyell, Rankin is still adamant that Nikki killed Belinda Roach – no matter how much evidence we present, and by the time we're all in the viewing room, even Thomas is having trouble keeping a lid on his temper.

"The bruising on the throat, the...the carotid hold, the boot print, the victim being lifted off the ground for a distance of _30_ _yards_!" He states.

"The boot prints could have been left by anyone, at any time." Ranklin informs us.

Oh, this is ridiculous.

" _Wrong_." I correct her. "They were left in a bacterial detergent called Sanify. Which contains a gelling agent. According to Nikki, Roach had a blocked drain and was using the detergent when she arrived at 8.30."

"According to Nikki." The DI retorts.

"Yeah!" I snap, losing patience. This woman had _already_ decided that Nikki's going down for murder. "Now, this detergent has a drying time of 45 minutes," I continue. "Suggesting the prints were left between 8.30 and 9.15. Sanify was also present on a shard of glass which may have transferred from the killer's boot tread."

"Dr Alexander was drawn to Roach's house by the discovery of the latter's thumb print, agreed?" Clarissa remarks, coming into the room.

"Evidence _you_ suppressed." Rankin interjects. She's going to have a go at Clarissa now, but Clarissa just ignores her.

"One error. One slip-up by an otherwise forensically airtight killer. Unless it's not an error at all – _it's bait_."

"Oh, _total_ supposition." Rankin sneers. "You're supposed to be a scientist."

And you're supposed to be a police officer – yet you ignored all the other evidence Thomas mentioned. What happened to innocent until proven guilty, that's what I want to know. This is guilty until proven otherwise.

Clarissa remains undeterred. "And scientists are trained to interrogate anomalies. This is anomaly."

"So what's your point?" The DI states.

"In all but one respect, planting someone's prints is quite straightforward - if you know what you're doing. You lift someone's prints – from a paper cup, say, make a reverse latent, and from that strike a mould of the original print." Clarissa explains.

"In all but one respect?" Rankin repeats

"Fingerprints have to be left in something." Clarissa informs her. "Most of the time it's sweat – which means shed skin cells, which means..."

"DNA." Thomas finishes.

Clarissa nods. "I re-examined the thumbprint from the clock. No DNA."

Rankin just won't back down. "Even if she _was_ duped into going after Roach, and _I'm_ not convinced, what does it really prove?"

I really am in danger of losing my temper with her now – especially when she interrupts me again. "That we are dealing with someone who's forensically smart-"

"And Dr Alexander isn't!" she sneers.

The volume of my voice rises with my temper. "-who wanted to lure her to Roach for a very specific reason, like framing her for murder."

"At the very least, it's reasonable doubt." Thomas points out.

Rankin doesn't seem to pleased to have her case against Nikki thrown out, but even she can't deny the evidence now, and Nikki is release from prison. I drive to pick her up, happy to see her again – though I'm not at all happy when they still treat Nikki like a criminal upon her release.

"You're kidding me!" I grumble. "She said 'Don't leave town'?!"

Nikki is remarkably calm considering she's been locked in a cell all night. "She said. 'Don't leave the vicinity' " She points out.

"You can drive a horse and cart through 'vicinity'." I retort indignantly.

It's not until we get into the car that Nikki's relief at being more or less cleared shows. She sits still staring ahead of her for a minute and then turns to me.

"Thanks, Jack." She sighs gratefully.

"We're going to find out who did this to you." I tell her. "Don't worry – we are."

I suddenly realise that we're basically staring at each other and break my gaze by leaning to get her bag off the back seat.

"It's for you." I say, handing it to her. She smiles at me and takes the bag, before adjusting the mirror so she can put her earrings back in.

My phone rings and I take it out of my pocket. "Clarissa. You're on speaker. I've captured the fugitive."

A little smile creeps onto Nikki's lips.

"Nikki!" Clarissa answers cheerfully. "How are you?"

"I'm fine." Nikki states.

"Don't be brave." Clarissa complains sounding disappointed. "I want tears. I want war stories."

"I was in there 15 hours." Nikki reminds her. "It doesn't make me papillon."

"Lock me up for 15 seconds, I'd lose my marbles!" Clarissa decrees ferverently.

Nikki – as usual, is restless to get back to work. "Have you got something for us?" She asks Clarissa.

"For Jack." The answer comes back. "You're going home, obviously, like people do when they're released from prison."

I shake my head. Honestly, you'd think she'd know Nikki better than that by now.

"Clarissa!" Nikki protests.

Clarissa seems to get the message and says her piece to both of us. "The glass shard we think the killer disposed of at the scene, its actually polycarbonate."

Nikki looks at me with eager interest. "Any ideas of a likely source?"

"Well, it's a popular glass substitute in heavy duty work lamps." Clarissa suggests. "I'm sending a picture now."

Nikki's phone buzzes with a picture message as I hang up the call with Clarissa. "At St Stephen's church, builder's were doing restoration work, and using lamps just like that." She tells me opening the message.

I shake my head. "Father Dawes was cleared. Rock-solid alibi for Walsh's death."

"Well, how many other people use the church? And right next to it is where Walsh's support group met." She points out enthusiastically. "Got to be worth a shot."

True enough. If it is from those work lamps, it doesn't necessarily mean that Father Dawes is implicated.

"Ok, sure." I reply.

We are going to find out who did this to Nikki. We are.

We are.


	2. Chapter 2

**Jack**

The church is all darkened and deserted when we get there.

"Father Anthony?" Nikki calls – but she gets no answer. She stops and waits, but I don't and when sees sees that, she struts past me purposefully. I follow her to the back of the church, where she removes a dust cover and reveals some of the lamps in the picture Clarissa sent us. Nikki drops the dust cover and examines the lamps, then she moves onto the other lamps – again removing the dust cover to examine them. For a minute, I think she's going to give me the dust cover and I hold out my hand ready.

"Lamps are intact." She comments, before throwing the dust cover on the floor in frustration and walking off.

As usual, on the rare occasions I get a glimpse of her hot temper, I'm in awe of her. It doesn't happen very often – but it is certainly a sight to behold when she smoulders.

"Father Anthony?" She calls again.

I'm calmly picking up the dust covers she's thrown on the floor and replacing them carefully, when Nikki calls me impatiently.

" _Jack!_ "

I obediently follow her, and for a moment I'm surprised by the situation I've found myself in – I'm the calm one and she's the volatile one for a change, but then she has just spent the night in a cell. Anyway, she's _definitely_ in charge here.

I hurry after her.

"Max Walsh's support group met on Thursdays, right?" It's more of a statement than a question.

"Aye." I agree with a nod.

"I've seen him before." She points at a man in the next room. The man appears to be running some sort of support group. "Here, with Father Dawes." She adds.

We smile politely as the group leave.

When the man in question appears, I hold up my ID. "Can we have a word?"

The three of us sit in the main church to chat.

"When I heard about Max Walsh's suicide, I was shocked." The man – who's name turns out to be Daniel, tells us.

"Because he was in remission?" Nikki interjects.

"And he was a fighter." Daniel adds. "Is there a question mark over Max's suicide?"

"Did you know Father Dawes's mother?" Nikki asks – ignoring the question.

"Irene? Of course."

"She had cancer too."

Up to now, Nikki has been leading this – _totally_ leading it. I mean, since we came back into the main part of the church, I haven't been able to get a word in edgeways. Finally, I do – mind, only one question and then Nikki jumps back in.

"Did she attend your group, Daniel?"

"No, sadly." He answers. "Her last months were taken up fighting a lawsuit against a chemical plant."

"Father Dawes told you that?" Nikki asks.

He nods. "He didn't give the case much credit. Said Irene was the victim of Lawyers looking for easy pickings. Why are you asking about Irene?" At this point his phone rings, so we avoid having to answer the question. "Just got to take care of this, sorry." He walks off to answer the call and Nikki turns to me excitedly.

"It's got to be how the victims were selected. Both victims had Cancer, and both took morphine."

I feel for her – I really do. She's desperate to prove her innocence to those who are still sceptical – namely DI Rankin, but there are massive loopholes in her theory. Horribly, I feel it's my job to point them out – if only to save her from getting into another mess.

"But were treated in different hospitals by different doctors." I point out. "And they didn't meet at a support group."

"Doesn't matter." She answers. "The connection is the killer – how he found them. Attending a support group is a unique chance to befriend someone." She points out enthusiastically.

"But Irene didn't attend a support group." I remind her gently.

"How do you know?" She responds, undeterred. "She may have met up with other plaintiffs in the lawsuit."

I suppose she could have. His call now ended, Daniel comes back.

"Sorry about that."

Before I can stop her, Nikki puts her theory to him. "We're looking for another member of your group. Someone who befriended Max Walsh.

Here we go, but in for a penny – in for a pound. "Likely male, tall, physically strong." I suggest.

"He probably didn't attend for very long." Nikki continues. "And he may have been vague about the type of Cancer he had."

"He almost certainly missed the last few sessions..." I add.

"Brendan." Daniel states. "Brendan Dalglish. I remember he and Max went over to the pub after a meeting."

Holy shit, it looks like Nikki's theory might be right.


	3. Chapter 3

"When did you last see Brendan?" Nikki comments.

"Four, five weeks ago." Daniel answers. "When he stopped coming, I called in case his health had deteriorated. No joy on two numbers he put on his registration form."

"Can you describe him? Got a photo?" I ask hopefully. This could save Nikki's reputation.

"40-ish, close-cropped hair. Six foot." Daniel informs us. "No photo, sorry."

"But he completed a registration form, yeah?" I add excitedly. Nikki could be off the hook. "We'll need to examine it for prints and DNA."

Nikki suddenly doesn't seem as enthusiastic as me about our new evidence and once we're in the car, I find out why.

"He sounds a lot like Scott, that's all." She remarks, unhappily. Oh, Nikki – you do know how to pick them!

"Short hair, six foot. Sounds like half my mates!" I reason, trying my best to reassure her. "How did you two get back in touch?" I ask – my mind going back to when she arrived at the Max Walsh scene – seemingly happy about the reunion.

"We ran into each other in the street."

"And who saw who first?"

"He saw me."

This is starting to sound planned – but it could be a coincidence. Though with Nikki's history...

"Is there any animosity between you? Any reason he'd want to hurt you?" I'm beginning to dislike this bloke.

"We broke up over a decade ago." She retorts.

"And who did the breaking? You?" I kind of know the answer to this one.

She sighs. "We were supposed to be going around the world. Last minute, I bailed."

As I thought. "How did he take that?" I comment.

"It's hard to say." She answers. "Three days later, he was gone."

I think back to her lunch date before she got arrested – when _he_ answered her phone. I really don't like Scott, but I need to put my feelings aside. My only concern at present is Nikki's peace of mind.

"Scott has nothing to do with this." I state confidently, analysing my best friend – I know her so well. "This is your subconscious fear of commitment casting a big old shadow on the wall, giving you justification to shrink away."

"I don't shrink!" She exclaims in protest.

"Yeah, and you're not scared of relationships either!" I chuckle, shaking my head.

"I think _you_ should stick to putting things in plastic bags!" she retorts, indignantly – knowing that I've described the her perfectly.

"How rude." I remark, teasing her. Jokes aside though, I need to reassure myself – _and_ her, that her theory of it being Scott is wrong.

Please let it be wrong.

"Reassure me on one thing." I state. "You haven't discussed the case with Scott." She doesn't answer. "Nikki?" I prod.

"Yes, I have."

I sigh. "Well, who started that conversation?"

"He did."

"But did he actively needle you for information – or ask to see the file?" Feel free to say 'No' any time, Nikki.

"Yes, both."

I sigh again. This is not looking good.

"And he asked after Belinda Roach as well. Before she was killed." Nikki adds.

"Brilliant!" I remark. No, this is not looking good, but I set out to reassure Nikki – and so far I haven't. I can feel the anxiety radiating off her. I swallow. Clear head, Jack. "Ok, if we pull Brendan's DNA from the form, and get a match, we can eliminate Scott straight away, put your mind at rest, yeah?" I suggest.

She's quiet for a minute. "I don't know." She mutters. "Maybe I just need some sleep."

"Yeah, now you're making sense." I agree. "Well, I'll get the form from Daniel, and we'll catch up first thing in the morning, right?"

"Thanks, Jack." She murmurs.

I glance at her. Her eyes are closed and I'm overcome with fondness for her.

"Don't dribble on my seats." I comment affectionately. I feel her smile in response to my teasing. I'm so glad to have her trust – to be the one she relies on to sort this mess out for her.

I can't imagine how things would have turned out if I hadn't met Nikki Alexander.

I go straight back to Daniel to get the form, after dropping Nikki off home – with strict instructions to go to bed. Then it's back to the Lyell to run tests. I could do with some proper sleep myself – having already spend last night here – and the early hours asleep most uncomfortably on my desk, but this can't wait. Nikki needs to know. I need to know.

I try all sorts to deprive myself of the much needed slumber – I pace about restlessly and make myself coffee after coffee. Being so late, Clarissa has long gone, but Thomas is in his office, having chosen to stay and catch up on paperwork. He was surprised to see me back, but he doesn't question me until he hears me pacing about for the fifth time.

"Jack, what's going on? You should be at home."

"So should you." I point out, before I can stop myself.

"Ok." He agrees. "That's a fair point, but _I_ didn't sleep here last night – and the question still stands."

"We went back to the church and talked to the man who ran the support group that Walsh attended." I explain. "Nikki had this crazy idea that another member of the group could have befriended him at the meetings and gone on to kill - and then frame her. Anyway," I sigh. "It turns out that it wasn't such a crazy idea. There _was_ another member who fits the description – and has now mysteriously 'disappeared' from the group – apparently untraceably so."

"Brendan Dalglish?" Thomas comments, squinting at the form.

"Yes."

"Ok, Jack." He nods. "But couldn't this have waited until tomorrow?"

"No." I insist. "Because Nikki's worried that 'Brendan' fits the description of Scott."

"The ex-boyfriend she's just re-acquainted herself with?"

"Yes – one who very conveniently 'bumped' into her in the street – and showed great interest in this case. Plus..." I continue. "They split up because Nikki decided at short notice that she'd rather work under Belinda Roach than go away with him."

"Oh." Thomas scratches his head. "It could just be coincidental, Jack."

"It could" I agree. "But I can put Nikki's mind at rest – and with her history..." I add. " _I_ kind of need to know too."

"Where is our fair-haired colleague?"

"I sent her home."

Thomas sighs. "I suppose there's no point in me 'sending' _you_ home?"

"None at all." I answer. "I'm going to make some coffee, do you want one?"

" _Again?_ " He retorts. "You've had three already!"

"Well, it helps." I shrug. "Do you want some?"

"No, I'm ok, thank you, Jack." He chuckles. "If you ever _do_ get home, you'll be up for the rest of the night going to the loo!"

Thanks for that, Thomas.

 **Nikki**

I ignore Jack's instructions to go straight to bed, instead choosing to do my own investigating. I invite Scott over.

"Everything ok?" He asks when he arrives.

"Yeah, long day." I answer vaguely. I'm not going to admit that I've been locked up – if he is guilty, I don't want him to know that I've been proved innocent of the crimes I was arrested for. Innocent to the people who matter anyway.

Rankin won't believe I'm innocent until she's been handed the killer on a platter – and I intend to do just that.

Anyway, it's better to catch Scott unawares.

"Do you have any other kind?" He remarks.

"Have a seat. Drink?" I offer -putting my plan into action.

"Er, yeah."

I reach for the bottle of wine on the counter. Despite the act of defiance I have planned, I'm not mean enough to just offer plain water, but that's all he wants. There's slight atmosphere – and I can't decide whether I'm creating it. Does he suspect? I mean, I did accuse him of following me earlier – and I've suddenly invited him over quite late - and under false pretences. Not that he knows that.

"You know what? Water's fine. It's been a long day, too. You know, going through Mum's stuff."

"Sure." I feel a slight flicker of guilt at the reminder of his personal circumstances at the moment, but I have to admit that it doesn't last for long. He still lied to me – and a lot of things don't add up, or rather, they do, in the worst possible way.

I go to the tap and fill a glass with water. He comes up behind me and makes me jump – which doesn't help the situation at all.

"Funny, I had you down as strictly _bottled_ water."

"Oh, I was." I agree. "And then I wasn't"

He sips the water. "People change." He comments.

"I've got some ice if it's not cold enough." I offer.

He shrugs, draining the glass. "It's water. How bad can it be?...What's the matter, Nikki?" He adds suddenly, in an accusing tone.

I realise to my horror that I've been staring at the glass he's just put down. My DNA sample.

"Nothing." I answer quickly.

"You said. Long day." He remarks, turning to wash his glass – thereby destroying my DNA sample.

" _What are you doing?_ " I ask a little to hysterically – and immediately follow it up with "I mean, just leave it in the sink. It's fine." in an attempt to cover my mistake – but it's too late. I've given myself away.

"Why did you ask me over, Nikki?"

"I wanted to see you."

"No." He tells me. "No, you didn't. You want _something_ , but it's not that."

He's quite right. I want his DNA.

I guess I've got no choice. "Belinda Roach is dead." I state. "Murdered."

But not by me.

Apparently, he doesn't know that I suspect him yet – or maybe he's just a good actor.

"Well, that's...terrible. I'm sorry."

I have to know now. I have to. "Did you really blame her for us breaking up?"

I can see the realisation dawning on him. Here we go.

"You are _unbelievable_." He snaps at me. He glances down at the glass. "You want my DNA, don't you? You don't trust me."

Why should I? You lied.

"Well, like you said, people change." I retort.

"You know, it's a small wonder you wound up working with dead people. They can't feel or answer back, or make a claim on you. But it's a rigged, one-sided relationship..."

I can't stand it any longer. He still hasn't answered my question. "Did you kill Belinda Roach?!"

He picks up the glass and spits in it. "No." Then he storms out - not that I can blame him.

"Scott!" I yell at his retreating back. "Scott!" He doesn't even look back, but before I can decide what to do, my phone rings.

 **Jack**

Nikki sounds even _more_ agitated than she did earlier. I'm glad I'm ringing her – though it's not exactly to give her 'good' news. It is – and it isn't.

"Hello?"

"Nikki, the prints on the form are not Scott's," I tell her as Thomas appears in his office doorway to listen. "They belong to a convicted killer called Carmichael."

"What...?"

"Does that mean anything to you?" I press her. "William Carmichael?"

"No, nothing." She answers

Thomas mouths at me to put the phone on speaker.

 **Nikki**

"You sure? He was a heavy-duty gun-for-hire back in the 90s. Gang related stuff in Essex and east London. Suspected of a dozen kills, but only convicted of one." Jack explains.

"Yeah, I'm sure." I tell him. This is bad – someone _really_ wants me dead.

"Well, he's involved somehow, which means you're not safe."

At this point there's a knock at the door. I gasp because having just been informed that a professional hit-man is probably after me, I'm terrified and I don't dare to open the door. It could be Scott coming back, but given how we left things a few minutes ago, I very much doubt it is him. On the other hand, if its a trained hit-man who's coming to kill me, would he knock on the door?

I suppose he might. An unsuspecting woman on her own opens the door – and bang. She'd have no chance. But that's her, not me – so I wait.

Nikki?" Jack says down the phone. He must have heard me gasp – and/or the knock that came before the gasp. "Nikki!" He repeats when I don't answer.

I still don't answer. I guess part of me is hoping that whoever it is will decide I'm not here, and leave. If it's Carmichael, that's unlikely. He was probably watching my flat – lying in wait for when I got home, but then Scott arrived. He undoubtedly waited for Scott to leave again.

"Nikki?!" Jack yells a third time.

And then the wait is over.

 **Jack**

We hear the knock at the door and Nikki's gasp, so we're very concerned when she subsequently goes quiet - and rightly so, because after I yell her name down the phone for the third time, we hear gunshots and Nikki screaming.

"Nikki! Shit!" I yell, grabbing my coat. Thomas already has Rankin on the phone as we leave the Lyell. If Nikki ran, she might have dropped the phone. It would account for the thud we heard after she screamed. That's what I keep telling myself – it's better than the alternative explanations for the thud. Anyway, I'm keeping the line open, in case she manages to pick up again.

Hopefully, she got away though. Right now, hope is all I've got.

 **Nikki**

It's all such a blur afterwards. I make it out the window and I just keep going. I don't particularly know where. Luckily for me, they're are builders working on my block of flats at moment, so there's scaffolding everywhere and I have time to press the button on the builder's lift, to make him think I'm heading up, when I actually go down. It won't fool him for long, but I need all the time I can get.

I end up in the basement, hiding in a little darkened room. While I crouch in there, it occurs to me that if he looks in here, he will find me.

I just have to hold my breath and hope he doesn't.


	4. Chapter 4

**Jack**

The armed police are waiting for Carmichael, when he comes out. We see him secrete his gun as he leaves the basement and my heart is in my mouth. He's a professional hit-man.

Surely, he wouldn't have left unless he'd done what he came to do?

As the armed police prepare to apprehend Carmichael, he reaches for his gun and is shot dead.

Up to now, we still have no idea where Nikki is – or what state she might be in. She could be injured – she could be dead. Professional hit – men don't leave people alive.

If he found her, she's dead.

Thankfully, we don't have to wait long to find out.

"Armed police. Armed police, madam. Step forward. Slowly raise your hands for me."

"Thank God!" Thomas mutters.

I find that I'm unable to speak.

Nikki looks absolutely terrified and she's trembling, but she seems otherwise unharmed. I'm over there with her as soon as they'll let me.

"You ok? You ok?"

"I'm fine." She mutters, snuggling into me.

"I should have taken you back to the Lyell with me, I'm sorry."

"Don't be silly, Jack." She sighs. "1. You didn't know there was hit-man out to get me – and 2. You can't watch me 24/7."

"She's right, Jack." Thomas agrees. "She probably wouldn't let anyone watch her 24/7, anyway." He turns to Nikki, just to confirm she's not hurt. "I take it Carmichael missed you altogether? We heard the first gunshots."

"Yes, he missed." She confirms. "I hid in the basement. He came down there looking – even looked in the room I was hiding in, but luckily he didn't see me, and decided I wasn't there."

"See, Jack." Thomas remarks. "Nikki's perfectly capable of looking after herself, so you can go home now."

"I never said she wasn't." I retort, cross that my need to protect my best friend is being questioned.

She does need me – _I'm_ her bodyguard.

"You know, he didn't go home last night?" Thomas decides to inform Nikki. "He was asleep on his desk when Clarissa and I arrived this morning."

Nikki turns to me. "Right, well you're not driving home then. You can stay at mine."

 **Nikki**

Jack starts to protest. "Nikki..."

"It's not up for discussion, Jack." I tell him firmly. "I'm not risking you falling asleep at the wheel. Besides," I add, knowing this will provoke agreement straight away. "I don't really want to be on my own, and I'd feel much safer if you were with me."

He backs down, taking on the job of being my personal bodyguard as usual. "Ok. You're shivering." He points out, wrapping his coat around me.

"Yes." I agree. "Well, I couldn't really say to Carmichael, 'Could you just wait while I get my coat', could I?" I turn to DI Rankin whos just come over. "That reminds me, I don't suppose there's any chance of getting my front door fixed?"

"Not until the morning I'm afraid." She answers briskly. "We can organise to put you up in a hotel, if you're scared..."

The last part is said in a tone which 'dares' me to accept the offer. She still doesn't think I'm entirely innocent. I've just nearly had my head blown off by a professional hit-man – and would I really hire someone to take myself out? Seriously, how much proof does she need?

I cut her off. "That's ok, thank you. Jack's going to stay with me tonight."

She screws her nose up at him as though he smells bad. "Good."

Apparently, proceedure calls for an evacuation of the whole building, while armed response do a full sweep and it's a good half an hour before we're allowed back in. I can tell that I'm not going to be popular with my neighbours. When we are finally given the all-clear, Thomas goes home, whilst Jack and I retreat back to my flat.

"I'm suddenly really tired." I announce. "I think I'm ready for bed."

"I'm not surprised – you've had quite a day!" Jack points out. "And you can't have got much sleep in that cell last night either."

"Hmm-mm." I nod. "Says the man who slept on his desk!"

He shrugs. "I was worried about you."

"And you couldn't be worried about me at home?" I say, giving him a hug. Bless him – he's blushing.

He clears his throat. "Anyway, um... where do you want me to sleep?"

I raise my eyebrows at him. "Well, as you know – there is only one bedroom, and you don't normally need to ask."

"I know." He mutters. "I just thought you might want me to sleep on the sofa, so I'm near the door that doesn't lock! Make you feel safer."

"That's sweet of you, Jack." I tell him. "But I'd feel safer if you're in the same room."

"Ok." He answers. "I'll just have a drink, then I'll go to bed too." He picks up the glass off the counter.

"You might want to use a different glass..." I comment with a snigger. He's going to be absolutely disgusted in a minute.

"What? Why?" He asks, turning back from the tap.

I chuckle. "Because Scott spat in that one."

He immediately drops the glass, which breaks when it makes contact with the floor and looks appalled. "Urgh, what the hell did he do that for?"

I burst into a fit of giggles at his horrified reaction and open the cupboard behind me. "DNA" I comment, handing Jack a clean glass. He fills the glass with water and leans against the counter to drink it.

"Couldn't he of pricked his finger or something – he didn't have to spit! That's disgusting." He sips his water. "What was he doing here anyway?"

"I invited him." I admit.

"Ok, but spitting...urgh!"

I shrug, crouching down to pick up the broken glass. "He might have been a bit annoyed with me."

"Oh, I see." Jack snorts knowingly.

I glance up at him. "Oh yeah? What do you see?"

"You invited Scott over here under the pretence of wanting to see him – but really, you just wanted his DNA." Jack informs me confidently. "Scott worked out what you were up to and confronted you, then you both yelled at each other, culminating in him spitting in the glass and storming out – which is why..." he adds with a smirk. "You sounded so flustered when I rang to warn you about Carmichael."

I chuckle at his triumphant face. "Yeah, that was pretty much it!"

"I know exactly what you're like!" He smirks. "Leave that." He instructs me as I start carefully picking up the glass.. "I'll do it when I've finished here. It's the least I can do when I broke the glass – Sorry about that, by the way." He adds apologetically waving his arm at the devastation he caused.

"It's ok, Jack – I've got loads. Anyway, I'd rather do it while you're standing still – I don't want you to stand on some glass. Just drink your water, love." I explain.

He drinks some more thoughtfully. "So what did Scott yell at you then?"

I snigger slightly. "You mean you don't know?!" I get up with broken glass and put it in the kitchen bin. "Just the normal sort of stuff that all my exes yell at me during an argument – its no wonder I work with dead people because they can't answer back – or make a claim on me. You know the kind of thing!" I lean on the counter next to him as he drains his glass and rinses it under the tap. "He didn't really say anything untrue. Time for bed then?"

Jack nods and follows me out the kitchen. "It's been quite a night!"


End file.
